He cared for the people of Greenock. For the families he had known all his life.
Would Gaunt spare a thought for the wellbeing of the young or old when he raised his tithes?
Nay. For certain he would not.
Hamish willed his instinctive flash of anger away and forced himself to think of Elena. His kind-hearted, loving little sister who was held prisoner by his sworn enemy.
Hamish’s chest tightened and his breathing became fast and short as panic clamped iron arms about his ribs. For this reason, he tried to avoid thinking too oft of Elena’s plight. Fear for her safety would overwhelm him.
What am I doing so far away, when I should be staging a rescue?
A feeling of hopelessness overtook him. If he died here, perchance at the hands of Isabella’s brother, then Elena would have no one to rescue her.
Why will Isabella not help me?
She was a kind, decent woman, he was sure of it. Moreover, wit and intelligence shone from her eyes. Why would she not attempt to come to terms with him?
The wintry sunlight shining through the painted glass intensified, until Hamish was obliged to shield his eyes from the glare.
And then he knew.
His mother had always told him—told all three of them—that naught was more important than truth.
But I have not been truthful with Isabella.
He sat straighter in the wooden pew as he realized the implications of this. He had allowed her to think of him as a villain. A ruffian.
I am the man with the power to decide if ye live or die, Isabella.
God’s bones, why had he said that?
At the time, he was trying to assert his control in any way he could. To stop her fleeing from the hall and coming into danger. To impress upon her that she needed to abide by his rules. Her beauty and poise had over-awed him, leaving him fumbling and bewildered. ’Twould have been better to simply tell the truth.
That he never intended her harm.
That he longed for the safe return of his younger sister.
That he was a man of some honor, despite appearances to the contrary.
Hamish smiled to himself. At last, he had found his path forward. These problems were easy enough to remedy.
He stretched his arms above his head and rotated his head and neck, slowly becoming aware of shouting coming from outside.
Hamish snapped into action, striding to the chapel doorway and stepping out onto the cobbles. He made out the tall figure of Siegfried, his cloak billowing about him, standing at the bottom of the hall steps.
“What is it?” he hollered back, scrambling for purchase on the ice.
“Come quickly.” Siegfried’s words were half snatched by the wind. “’Tis Alaric. He is breaking into the Lady’s chamber.”
Hamish did not spare another thought for the ice. He began to run.
Chapter Eight
Sometime earlier, Isabellahad stood quietly at the end of the long gallery and watched as Hamish made halting progress toward the river. She knew that the younger man with dark eyes—the one she so disliked—had long since climbed the stone steps to their sleeping quarters.
Does this mean the course is clear?
Her stomach growled with hunger and she decided she would have to take the chance. The older man, Siegfried had not yet come into view but of the three, she considered him the lesser threat.
